Grey

by Aundrea Ascencio

  "Of course not. You want stability. You want establishment," Eric said. "You want a guy with assets who's financially secure enough to buy a house in the suburbs with you one day or raise a couple of kids. You want a guy who's got his businesses and investments in the right places, and who can help you build a future. You want someone who's willing to grow with you and tease you about gray hairs and the cellulite on your legs."

  "Eric-"

  "What you don't want is an asshole who drags you through a rollercoaster life and tosses you out when the thrill's gone. I know you would be taking a big risk by coming with me. It would mean you would have to leave everything. It would mean you would have to trust me. If you weren't skeptical about it, I would wonder what was wrong with you. But I understand how much I'm asking from you, and it's a huge investment on your part. So to prove that I'm not just talking out of my ass and that I really can't see my life without you, I'm going to put my own investment on the table. I think we should get married."

  "What! Now you've really gone and lost your mind."

  "Maybe," he said shrugging. "Maybe not."

  "No, there's no maybe about it!" Chantel cried. "We can not get married. Why would you even say that?"

  "Why not?" he asked. "There's no law saying we can't."

  "It still doesn't mean it's right for us," Chantel replied. "We're not even dating. Now you want me to fake a marriage too? I can't do that. It's too important to me. When I really get married someday, I will be done with a Bachelors and a Masters degree at age 25. I will be established in a respectable Journalism career. I will be madly in love with a man who I can share everything with, who dresses in collared dress shirts, who has a clean record, and an upstanding career."

  "Great, but what if that doesn't happen? What if you realize later down the line that nothing in real life is ever that perfectly manicured to your idealisms?"

  "I am not getting married at 21 while I'm in college to a guy I can barely stand to be around," she said. "A guy who makes decisions based off his own interests, without thinking about others he might be hurting in the process."

  "You're talking about me leaving a month ago?"

  "That's exactly what I'm talking about!" Chantel snapped at him. "Do you realize how much it hurt to think that you used me and left? You didn't leave me anything. No phone call. No note. Nothing."

  "I'll explain it to you one day."

  "Then maybe I'll marry you one day, but not now," Chantel replied. "When you stop hiding things from me and I can actually trust you."

  "You want it straight and to the point then?" Eric demanded. "I love you. I love you so much I can't stand it. That's what I've been hiding. When you try to read me, that's what I'm thinking about. How when it comes to you loving me back, I don't stand a chance. Knowing how much I could make you happy if you just gave me that chance. There. That's it. Now you see me naked. Now you know all my secrets."

  Chantel stood quietly, but though she was taken aback by the suddenness of the confession, the nature of it did not seem to surprise her.

  "I just wanted you to say it," she whispered finally. "I mean, I think I knew it before, but I didn't think you would actually say it to me. If you didn't say it, then it wouldn't exist, and I wouldn't have to worry about what I'd say if you had said it. I created and recreated so many replies to you in my head, but admittedly, this is not how I imagined the scenario."

  "I should have told you before I left. I had a lot on my mind, especially with family stuff in Colorado, but it was never my intention to make you feel like I used you," he said. "If I had known you would eventually come to that conclusion, I would have told you the minute I first knew that I loved you."

  "How long have you known?" she asked.

  "I can't really give you a time or day that it happened. It just kind of come on gradually. Even in that Physics class, I thought you were the most beautiful brown woman I ever saw, and I hated you for it," he answered. "But if I could pinpoint any moment in time, it would have to be the day you got pissed at me in the library for crashing on your poetry contest. I've seen you angry at me before, but there was just something about that moment that made my world stop. From then on, I knew I would do anything for you. And I know somewhere deep down, way down, you love me too."

  "I was doing laundry when I found out I did," she told him bashfully. "I found your mp3 player in one of my sweaters, and I knew then that I loved you. I know it's a small, insignificant detail and there could have been a lot of explanations as to how it got in my pocket, but I had this gnawing gut feeling that you left it on purpose. That you hadn't just left and that it all meant something to you."

  "It does mean something to me," he said gravely. "If it didn't, I wouldn't be here. You know me. I wouldn't put myself out there like this just for the hell of it. It's as big a risk for me as it is for you. So I am dead serious when I say that I care about you and that I need you with me."

  "Ya, I'm slowly coming to terms with that, but it still doesn't make it any more rational," Chantel told him. "You want me to decide the entire course of my life by next Thursday. That's five days. I don't think I can do that. I'm just barely getting over the I love you part."

  "It is five days," Eric said bewildered, as if he'd barely realized what day it was and the gravity of his request. He had been so fixated on the idea of building a life with her, that he had completely overlooked the fact that they still had their own individual lives in progress, and reality hit him hard. Logically, he couldn't possibly ask her to marry him in five days, even if they were both out of their minds crazy about each other. "Shit."

  "I tried to tell you."

  "It's fine. We'll figure something out," Eric said, racking his brain for ideas. "You need time. I mean, that's good, right? Time's a good thing. I don't really want you to decide by next Thursday. I don't need an answer that quick. What good would a fast answer do if it's not the right one?"

  "Ya," Chantel agreed, quite impressed with how positively he thought the thing through. It made her feel more relaxed about the abrupt proposal, and that it wasn't just another one of his impulsive ideas. If he was willing to wait in order for her to make a well informed decision, she found it harder to doubt the sincerity of his feelings.

  Though she appreciated the gesture, she couldn't help but notice how the light in his eyes gradually faded from perpetual ecstasy to heavy doubt. He seemed less energetic about what he had proposed, and shut her out to battle his own conflicted thoughts. Chantel couldn't guess what he was thinking, but above everything, she didn't want another misunderstanding between them. When she asked for more time to consider his suggestion, she really meant it as a legitimate request in which she would search every corner of her heart to know if this was the right path for her. It was in no way meant to serve as a flat out rejection of him. Nor was it a way to dodge the situation and buy herself more time for building up enough courage to reject him in the future. She didn't want him to waste his time dwelling on either of those ideas, as they were both far from the truth. She really meant to give him the answer that would led to the satisfaction of both parties, but not in five days!

  In an attempt to show him that she would give his proposal as serious a consideration as he had solemnly presented it to her, she kissed him lightly and whispered, "I really will think about it. I'm not just saying that so I can disappear."

  "No, I know you mean it," he said back quietly.

  "Then what's wrong?" she asked. "You flipped the switch on me again. Your whole demeanor just changed. Don't be sad."

  "I'm not. I'm actually ecstatic inside," he replied, smiling softly at her. "To date, I've never been this happy."

  "You don't look like it."

  "No, I am, and you're right. We need time. This is something I really want you to consider with reasonable judgment as well as your feelings. Think and rethink every reason you have to say yes, and every doubt that would make you say no," he said. "It is so important that you not rush into one decisio
n or the other."

  "Ok, first off, if we're going to start being a real couple, you need to be more straightforward with me," Chantel told him. "I need to know what's going on. If it affects your life, then it affects my life too, and I cannot give you the answer you want unless I know everything, all the facts. So what's up? What's bothering you?"

  "I'm just going to be honest with you," he said. "This won't be easy."

  "That's all relationships."

  "But marriage for us will be that much harder, especially in the beginning."

  "You mean because I'm black?" Chantel asked. "It's ok if you say it. Relationships are challenging enough without adding in the interracial factor. We'll have our differences. I'm aware of that."

  "It's not just our personal differences that will make it hard. It's the way the world would look at us," Eric told her.

  "Not the whole world," Chantel disagreed. "Just your part of it."

  "Some people will think certain things, and they might say certain things to you, and some days you might ask yourself if it was even worth it. One day you could regret I ever walked into your life," he said. "That's something you have to think about. That's something I have to think about. I have to be sure that I can handle putting you through all that."

  "I can handle more than you think I can," Chantel replied. "I'm not glass, you know."

  Eric smiled. "Ya, true," he said. "But even if you were a block of titanium steel, I couldn't let myself put you in the way of any unnecessary pain. You may not be helpless, but I can't help protecting you from what I see as a threat. I'll always be fighting for you, Chant. Always."

  "What if I don't have an answer for you by Thursday?" she asked him quietly. "What then? You already told me you're not coming back to California. How is that going to work?"

  "If you need me, I'll come back," he told her. "I don't care where I am or what I'm doing. When you're ready, I'll be here."

  "Ya, but it's easy for you to say that now because you're already here," she said. "What if it takes more than a week? Or more than a month? Or more than a year? You'll move on. Eventually you'll forget this conversation ever happened."

  Eric took her hand and placed his palm over hers. She felt his fingers lock around hers and a light, round object fall into her palm. He closed her fingers around it.

  "This is my heart. This is my essence. This is everything to me. It's yours for now, but should you decide to keep it, then it's yours forever," he told her. "I won't forget it, Chantel, and now, neither will you."

  Chantel didn't dare open her hand to glance at the ring resting in her palm. Nor could she draw her hand back, as it felt too heavy with the burden it carried within it. She knew she couldn't keep the ring, not when she hadn't officially given him an answer, but he walked away before she could make any protest, forcing her to decide its fate on her own.

  Date Night with Mr. and Mrs. Pari

  Saturday nights were date nights. That was the ritual. Though in Wesley Pari's mind, it was not so much a ritual as it was a renewal of his marital commitment.

  It was the one day out of the week when he wasn't Wesley Pari, Senior Software Development Engineer at Axon Company. On Saturday nights, he was simply Wes, a humble 46-year-old gangly sack of bones in nice slacks and a casual dress shirt, playing the role of a devoted husband and father.

  He pulled his beloved BMW into the driveway of his quiet suburban home promptly at 6pm. Before stepping out of the car, he inspected his graying dark hair in the mirror, the same slick Swing Kids hairstyle he'd routinely gelled down during high school. His dark eyes squinted intently through his beer bottle thick lenses to make sure every hair was in place before he was satisfied enough to stroll up the driveway to his front door.

  When it was time to call on Olivia, he smoothed out his shirt and confidently rang the bell. He could have easily used his own key to unlock it, but he waited faithfully for his wife to answer.

  Almost immediately, she flung the door open in anticipation of seeing her husband after his long and dragged out 12 hour shift. He took a moment to pause and appreciate how beautiful she looked in a green, bare shouldered cocktail dress and elegantly curled auburn hair. Never had he doubted that of all the sad bastards in the world, he was still the luckiest.

  Remembering that he should say something to her, he cleared his throat. "Good evening, Mrs. Pari," he greeted her with a smile.

  "Mr. Pari," she returned with a wink. "What can I do for you tonight?"

  He blushed and gulped, but kept his cool as he said smoothly, "I was just passing through the neighborhood, and I couldn't resist the idea of seeing you again. If you're not too busy, I would like the honor of taking you out tonight."

  Olivia playfully rolled her eyes. "Wes, you're so full of it. You know you don't have to ask me that anymore. I'll follow you anywhere now," she said. "You're stuck with me, honey."

  "Well, excuse me if I can't help reliving the night I first took you out," he said. "It's like we're still there, you know. You're still the same Liv, and I'm still the same nervous idiot who would have given anything to make her notice him."

  "We don't live in that world anymore. I've gained two sizes around the waist since then," she told him. "I'm a lot of things now, but I'm definitely not the same Liv from high school."

  "Are you kidding me?" he demanded, appalled. "I love every bit of what I got. You're my dream, Liv. Always. Even if you are a bigger dream than you used to be. But that just means you're worth twice as much now."

  "Right. You just think you're so charming, don't you?" Olivia said, standing on tip toe to kiss him, and swaying her curvy hips all the way to the car, knowing perfectly well that he was watching.

  "That's just flirtation, baby. The tip of the iceberg," he called after her. "Why don't we skip dinner and I can show you what real charm is?"

  "Tacos before boys," Olivia winked at him. "Don't worry. I'll make it worth your while later. I always do."

  ~

  The night was promising, and considering the way it started out, Wesley had no reason to suspect that there was something bothering his wife. She was very careful not to betray her true thoughts to him, and he went on joking and flirting with her like they usually did on their nights out together. She did not stop him or change the topic, but played along for his sake, which is why it never occurred to him that getting back home to their bedroom was the last thing on her mind that night.

  It wasn't until they arrived at the restaurant, and were seated by the window with the ocean view, that he gradually began to realize something reserved about his wife's behavior. She glanced at him but a few times that night, all with her usual sweet smile, but with a degree of distance that made him question where her mind was.

  He took great efforts to keep his day at work out of the conversation and engage her in topics that ordinarily would have interested her, such as what her art students were working on that week, or what kind of kitten they would adopt as a playmate for their Turkish Angora, Mimi. Whether she intended to or not, Olivia's answers were short and unimaginative, and minimally substantial to address his inquiries.

  Conversation quickly died away, and Wes attributed the silence to his wife being hungry and not in the mood for small talk. Once she got something in her stomach, she would return to her natural sanguinity. However, when she ordered a small house salad and a glass of water, rather than her usual Moscato with salmon, Wes began to suspect that maybe he'd made a mistake in bringing her there.

  "I know," he said, sighing. "You're sick of Italian food. I should've known you would be by now, especially since we had it when Chantel came home last time. My apologies. We can still go get tacos if you want."

  "No, it's not the food."

  "I really don't mind. If you want tacos, I'll get you some tacos," he told her quickly, taking out his card to pay the tab. "It's your night, Liv. That was my promise to you."

  "Stop. It's fine," she said, grasping his hands in hers before he could call the wait
ress over. "This is really beautiful. I appreciate every minute of it. It's not the food, or the restaurant, or you. I'm just trying to work through my own issues right now, but I'm sure it'll work itself out. I'm probably just being overly anxious, like I always am."

  "What's on your mind?" he asked.

  "Aw, don't ask me that," she said. "You're so good to me, Wes, and you went through all this to make sure I felt special tonight. I didn't want to say anything and spoil our night."

  "No, you couldn't do that," he said, squeezing her hands reassuringly. "It's not our night. These nights are for you. It's for you that I do this. I'm the one at your service. If you need to talk about something, I'm here to listen. You know you can tell me anything. What's bothering you?"

  "Chantel," she replied, releasing the burden of her thoughts. "Have you talked to her lately?"

  "Not since our dinner two weeks ago," he answered reluctantly. "I meant to call her today, but one thing happened after another, and I completely forgot. Isn't it midterm week for her though? It's usually around mid-October that the threat ofapocalypse strikes Earth again, right?"

  "Yes. She has midterms this upcoming week."

  "Hm," Wes nodded. "She usually calls me around midterms. I haven't heard from her."

  "Ya, you know how frantic she gets before midterms, and for some reason, you've always had a better way with words than I do when it comes to those things. I never had testophobia, so for me to just say 'Chantel, you'll be fine' never seems to really work. What is it that you say to her to calm her down?"

  "Well, when we're scared of something, we usually fear the unknown factor about it. The part we can't anticipate," he replied. "For Chantel, that's problematic because she strives for perfection, which can work for and against her. I just try to make her know as much as possible about what's making her anxious. What a success would mean in the long run. What a failure would mean. What she can do to improve in both outcomes. I've also talked to her about testing tactics. How to breathe. How to block out her environment and focus on what's in front of her. To not let the clock rattle her, but to still be conscious of how much time she can spend on every question before she needs to move on. You know, basic strategies."